My palms were sweating beneath the silk of my gloves, the moisture not relenting even when I removed them for the time being. I resisted the urge to wipe them against my gown. The material was too delicate, too unforgiving. One careless motion would leave a darkened smear and draw attention I could not afford.
Instead, I folded my hands neatly in my lap and focused on maintaining the illusion of composure.
The ballroom shimmered with gold and crystal. Chandeliers dripped with light overhead, refracting against polished marble floors and turning the entire space into something almost celestial. Music swelled and dipped in elegant currents, violins weaving through conversation like threads of spun silver. The scent of spiced wine, perfume, and beeswax candles mingled into something warm and intoxicating.
It should have felt celebratory, but it felt suffocating.
My bodice pressed tightly against my ribs, forcing my breaths to remain shallow. Each inhale scraped at my lungs as though the air had thinned without warning. I had to consciously regulate it, slow in, slower out, lest the dizziness building behind my eyes give me away.
They're here for you.
The memory of Baylen's voice had not faded. It lingered in me like a bruise beneath the skin. The dream world still clung to my thoughts in fragments of cold mist and fractured light from my visit with Alec. Even seated among silks and jewels, I could still feel the echo of standing before him in that endless, shifting dark when he told me the Kellso planned to attack.
The Kellso are coming tonight. Tonight. Of all nights.
Around me, the women at the table continued their conversation, oblivious to the fracture line running invisibly beneath the Academy's foundation. My mother sat among them as though she had been born for such gatherings, her posture effortless, her smile measured and luminous. Emerald satin draped elegantly from her shoulders, the candlelight catching the gold threaded through her hair.
She was in her element.
I felt as though I were balancing on the edge of something unseen.
"—with the entire Council in attendance," one of the women was saying, her tone bright with approval. "It sends a powerful message of unity."
Her gaze drifted across the ballroom, and instinctively, mine followed.
They stood slightly elevated near the musicians, positioned where they could observe without appearing to do so. The Council members did not glitter like the nobility. Their attire was darker, more restrained, their presence far more commanding than ornamental.
Councilor Anton Deverrel stood with hands clasped loosely behind his back, crimson eyes reflecting chandelier light like embers disturbed in a hearth. Even at a distance, there was something volatile about him—heat contained but never extinguished. His expression was pleasant enough for public view, yet I knew from experience how quickly that sweetness could turn corrosive.
Beside him, Councilor Baryn Rasso appeared carved rather than born. Broad shoulders, immovable posture, his dark gaze steady and unyielding as stone. He did not fidget. He did not smile. He simply watched. There was a weight to him even across the room, as though gravity bent subtly in his presence.
And then there was Councilor Neville Eliphas.
He stood slightly apart, as though proximity were a choice he carefully measured. His blue eyes caught the candlelight in shifting shades—sometimes pale and reflective, sometimes deep and unreadable. He conversed quietly with one of the Academy's senior instructors, but his attention did not remain fixed there for long.
YOU ARE READING
Through Smoke and Ashes
Fantasía*Undergoing editing. Half of these chapters were written when I was a child.* Book One: There is no prophecy. There is no tell-tale legend. There is no scripture written down in a book or a hidden cave. There is only the spoken word of the Gods. Dar...
